


something ends, something begins

by vipersong



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Cat School (The Witcher), Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Panic Attacks, Swearing, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), except when he does, jaskier going by julian, jaskier has no clue what hes doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 08:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24347692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipersong/pseuds/vipersong
Summary: Julian of Kerack has the amazing ability to get himself in and out of easily avoided situations by causing what one might call “catastrophes”. When a significant prize is offered for his death he decides the best solution is to get a glamour and live as a human for a few years until everyone has forgotten about the mishap.That is not what happens.He ends up with more fame as a bard than he ever had as a witcher, and an even higher price on his head than there was originally.
Relationships: Aiden & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 19
Kudos: 219





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Death to the Details](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364571) by [StarsInMyDamnEyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsInMyDamnEyes/pseuds/StarsInMyDamnEyes). 
  * Inspired by [All the world I've seen before me passing by](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23052019) by [brothebro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothebro/pseuds/brothebro). 



> forewarning: i have zero idea what i'm doing. none. i do know that i enjoy the whole witcher jaskier thing so *waves hands vaguely*
> 
> this was inspired by both witcher!jaskier and feral!jaskier. there are many amazing witcher!jask fics around, and i hope i'll get to the point where this one could stand out.

Julian had very little idea what he was doing.

Par the course for him, really, but this was pushing it. His inability to look before he leapt had gotten him into this situation so relying on it to get him out probably wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had. This in no way meant he would attempt another way of fixing this... minor issue.

Standing in front of a mirror in a newly bought house in Oxenfurt hit that point home. While he may have overcomplicated matters at first he couldn’t help but be glad for it now. For the last few years had been some of the best of his life. He’d never have experienced them if he actually thought about whose throat he was about to slit.

He didn’t of course, and he had graduated from Oxenfurt Academy as a Master of the Seven Liberal Arts, made many enemies, a few friends, and a new name for himself.

Jaskier.

He supposed he should start referring to himself by his own name if he were to be using it for the foreseeable future.

It wasn’t hard to do so around other people, just with himself. He knew what went on in his own mind after all, and the suit of armour in the closet beside him did no favours when it came to establishing himself in a new life. When he locked the door to this house for the final time he suspected it wouldn’t be so difficult.

It was hard to feel like the monster when clad in silks. When he used song as his weapon instead of swords. When the eyes he met in the mirror had round pupils instead of slits. He’d been lucky in his travels, with the amount of his colleagues that earned a nasty face scar or blind eye, but the minor scar on his jaw had also vanished beneath a layer of magic.

He turned from the mirror, and looked towards the sprawling map he had pasted to the wall of his bedroom. Picking up one of the two knives he hadn’t locked away, Julian turned his back to the map and stared at the opposite wall.

The knife felt so familiar yet so strange. He hadn’t gone so long without holding a weapon since he was four.

He threw the knife over his shoulder with a flick. He could hear the way the lady that lived in the next house dropped her cup at the sound of the knife embedding itself in the wood.

Julian turned, approaching the map. He yanked the dagger out of the wall and slipped it into his puffy silk doublet in a single, practiced movement, leaning closer to the tear in the paper to see the closest settlement.

Dol Blathanna… Posada.

Fantastic. He couldn’t _wait_ to meet all the charming locals in that shithole. Not to mention the time it would take to walk all the way across the Continent on foot, after selling his beloved steed that he’d had for about nine months after abandoning the last one in the mountains. He’d really loved that horse, but needs must. He’d left her with a herd and everything.

Anyway. Posada.

It might even be advantageous to go somewhere so out of the way. It would make for a fantastic bardic origin story, which would distract from his on-the-spot forged papers when he first convinced the nearest mage to equip him with a glamour in return for a not-insignificant amount of coin.

Posada. East. It would take about a month, which really was a waste of time and resources, but there would be no backing out from him.

Well then. Nothing held him down in Oxenfurt anymore. He’d need to return to teach the mandatory classes at the Academy, but that's what winter was for. All that was left was to pick up his bag and… go.

So that's exactly what he did.

Jaskier picked up his modified lute case, slung it onto his back, stepped out onto the street, and locked the door behind him.

His favourite part about the whole bard thing was the interaction. Distrust and disdain followed witchers wherever they went, even in some of the better towns. Bards, though? Annoyance, sure, but more welcomed him than not. People would cheer and dance, pat him on the back instead of launching a pitchfork as he leaves the farming village at a gallop.

Though, _Posada ._

Fuck, he hated the shitty place. Not even his years of education could give him a better way to disciple the place other than a _fucking_ sewer, each individual piece of feces shat out contributing to such a stench that it seemed like a requirement to live there was being a _dick_.

At least he would eat for a while. It would take years to eat the stale bread those assholes threw at him. Talk about ungrateful.

And, if they couldn’t keep their mouths from insulting him, at least come up with a better insult. _Abort himself ?_ Impossible and unoriginal. Even his old acquaintances had a better grasp on the Common tongue to come up with better than _that_ pitiful attempt.

That's when he spotted the man in the corner.

White hair, black studded armour, two swords, and golden eyes that practically shone in the low light of the tavern. He couldn’t be more inconspicuous if he tried.

Geralt of Rivia. The Butcher of Blaviken.

Now, Jaskier knew more than a few people with uncomfortable monikers such as that one, and he’d bet his lute that something happened besides a witcher strolling into a market and killing a bunch of people like plucking grapes. Jaskier was not supposed to know those people, so going up and asking him about fun contracts wasn’t exactly something he could do.

Which reminded him that he couldn’t exactly show that he _could_ fight off said witcher if he needed to. 

All common sense told him to run as fast as possible in any direction. For he knew who that was, had heard about him from various sources, and even saw him from a distance on one memorable occasion before Julian stuck a sword through a king’s throat.

But, he thought to himself, where was the fun in that? The story? The adventure?

It’s not like the other witcher will have heard of the price on his head anyway. He’s a Wolf, not a Viper or Cat. if he doesn’t know about the price, he can’t even tip another off to his location. That’s _if_ he recognised him at all. So there’s very little chance of him losing anything if he indulged in his curiosity. What could he gain? Emotion, satisfaction, amusement -- something along those lines.

“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

Not the best thing that ever came out of his mouth. He could _see_ the irritation hanging around the witcher like a cloud.

“I’m here to drink alone,” Geralt growled, trying his damnedest to make Jaskier give up. He didn’t even look at him. Rude.

“Good, yeah, good,” Jaskier mumbled. He wasn’t getting out of it that easily. “No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except, for you.” He would admit to no small amount of bardic swagger in his stride as he moved towards Geralt. “Come on… you don’t want to keep a man with… bread in his pants waiting.”

Now that was up there for the worst thing ever to come out of his mouth, and he’d vomited up half-digested siren innards. It was unsurprising that Geralt didn’t respond, especially when Jaskier gave him so little time to even think about it.

“You must have some review for me,” Jaskier continued as he slit into the seat across from Geralt. “Three words or less.”

There was a stretch of silence. Jaskier stared into golden eyes. A lesser man might have said it was uncomfortable.

“They don’t exist.”

Jaskier blinked.

“What don’t exist?”

“The creatures in your song.”

Yes, that was kind of the point. Bringing attention to himself by singing about things he had no right knowing would be a one-way track to being beheaded. Now he had to act casual.

“And how would you know?” _Not that casual, you dumb fuck._

He didn’t know anyone else with the ability to get themselves into stupid shit like he did, and this whole situation really encapsulated that better than Jaskier could ever explain himself. He ended up following the witcher out of the tavern. An idea had struck him, and he would make sure that this big witcher stereotype allowed him to see it through. That's how he found himself trailing the witcher up the path, doing his utmost to project the aura of a harmless annoyance.

“Need a hand? I’ve got two of them. One for each of the, uh, devil’s horns,” Jaskier babbled, making sure to stay a step or two behind the witcher.

“Go away,” was the gruff response he received for that one.

“I won't be but silent backup,” he promised. “I heard your note, and, yes, you’re right, maybe real adventures would make better stories. And you, sir, must be chock-full of them. Amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is that onion? You smell very strongly of onion. Doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death, and destiny. Heroics, and heartbreak.” What Geralt actually smelled like, below all that, was confusion and irritation.

“It’s onion,” Geralt interrupted. The only reason he’d spoke up at all was probably to shut Jaskier up. He should’ve known by then that it wouldn't work.

“Right, yep. I could be your barker!” Not likely, that would give him more witcher-related attention than he was willing to go through for him. Still, a song or two wouldn’t hurt anyone. “ - spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken!”

Jaskier had put his foot in his mouth with that one. He knew some got tetchy whenever a peasant-gifted nickname got brought up. Geralt had stopped too, and the displeasure under the onion had changed to outright anger.

He ought to work on his filter.

Geralt turned. “Come here,” he beckoned with a finger.

And, wow, okay, did people usually fall for that one? Maybe, if they couldn’t smell the change. It wasn’t like Geralt’s face had after all. Nevertheless, he would have to take it for the good of his cover as an unintelligent, musically talented annoyance.

“Yeah?”

The punch to his stomach hurt a lot less than he was expecting. The witcher must have held back a lot, but more out of respect for his presumed-human innards instead of actually wanting to hurt him. He gasped, doubled over, and prayed his choking was realistic.

If nothing else, he _would_ get a song out of this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian's not so good, very bad four years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> young julian is having a fantastic time.

Days at Stygga Castle dragged on, and yet by the next evening, Julian could barely recall the previous. While his mind could not remember, his body seemed to recall the years of training. Even as he learned move after move with whatever weapon placed in front of him that day, he never seemed to improve at the rate the other trainees did. They always seemed to be stronger than him. He supposed it was because most of them were older. He wondered, sometimes, why they bothered with him when the others were better. More likely to survive. 

He had heard some of the others talking about where they came from once or twice, but Julian, among the youngest of the trainees at only eight years, could barely remember it. He was four years old when he arrived, or so they said. Despite this, he knew exactly how he came into the latest litter. Everyone did. Even those in the second training group spoke of it.

Annis of Toussaint had killed assassins that were after his father, some small-name noble in Kerack. Annis had requested the Law of Surprise as her payment. His father had been unaware of his bastard son, born to one of his maids. Julian could hear the whispers surrounding him ( _noble_ , they spat, _unwanted_ , they hissed) even without the senses they would try to bestow upon him.

He could try to blend in, try to emulate their words and posture, but he guessed something about him seemed other to them. Why else would everyone suggest such a thing? Only one person spoke to him with some regularity. That was Robin, a girl from his half of the litter.

He didn’t know why she spoke to him. Unlike him, she could hold her own against the kittens of their litter students despite only being a year older than him. She knew everything about monsters after only one lesson, and could create oils on the first try. She knew everyone by name, and everyone knew hers in turn. Even those in the other half of the litter could say something nice about her.

Another kitten, Andras, frequently told him that it was out of pity. That she was so kind that she wanted him to have one person he could think of when he died in the Trial of Grasses. It wasn’t like he wanted to know if that was true or not, but it couldn’t be worse. She couldn’t be getting anything out of it after all.

“Julian,” Robin called as she walked over. “We have to be in the training yard soon!”

He turned, blinking over at her. He looked down at the water in his tankard. “They said that we were done today.”

“There’s a meeting. Master Treyse is holding it. It's about… you know. The Trials.”

Julian could feel his eyes widening. They had known that the Trials had been fast approaching, ever since their meals had been changed to include a round of potions to balance out their blood or whatever, but he had thought he’d have at least another month. He could feel pressure building behind his eyes and blinked it away.

“Ah,” he said faintly. “Alright then.”

Robin looked worried. He wondered why. She wasn’t one of the ones very likely to die because their bodies couldn’t handle the strain. He didn’t ask.

He couldn’t focus on anything beyond the clenching of his stomach, but got to his feet all the same. He forced his face into a neutral expression and clenched shaking hands behind his back.

He felt his own feet take him to the training yard, but his mind felt trapped inside itself. He forced himself to pay attention to what Treyse was saying but he didn’t know how much he took in beyond that the Trials were experimental, which meant they were more likely to die. Because they were more likely to die, three times as many kittens had been gathered in hope that a few of them made it out alive.

The sun shined upon then, but Julian could only shiver.

“Hey, hey. You alright?”

Julian blinked.

Someone was in front of him now. They had stooped down and all he could see was green eyes. He blinked again fiercely. He was fine. Whoever this was needed to go away.

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. What’s up?”

Something white-hot and burning shot through Julian. “What’s _wrong?_ What’s wrong is that I’ve just been told I’m going to die in four days, _that's_ what's wrong!”

The boy blinked. His concerned face split into a smile.

“Nah, I think you’ll be fine,” the boy declared.

“What? You might be from the other group, but surely you’ve heard how I win one fight in twenty,” Julian scoffed, turning away.

“Well yeah,” the boy tilted his head. “Julian, right? You’re one of the youngest trainees, ‘course you’ll lose. But I’ve a feeling you’ll be fine, yeah?”

“If you say so,” Julian muttered, turning away. Hopefully Robin would’ve saved him some food, even if she sat with the others. The potions were horrible on an empty stomach.

“Hey, where are you going?” The boy called.

“For food, before it runs out,” Julian sighed. “Why do you care?”

The boy shrugged. “Because. If you need to, you can share some of my dinner. Arenaria always makes sure we all get some.”

 _I’d rather starve_ , Julian thought to himself.

“Thank you for the offer,” he said stiffly. “But I can look after myself.”

As Julian walked away, he noticed how much clearer his head was. He wasn’t thinking about the Trials. But when he looked over his shoulder, the other boy had already moved away.

“Huh.”

It didn’t take long for him to find Robin in the hall, sitting at the end of the kitten table with two plates set out in front of her, and a vial across the table. Julian slid in across from her, downing the potion almost immediately.

“What took you so long?” Robin asked, after swallowing her mouthful.

“Someone from the other group talked to me,”Julian said, tearing apart his bread. “I’m not really sure what it was about.”

“Well? Robin tilted her head. “Who was it? What did they say?”

Julian shrugged. “Not sure who it was. They offered me food, so maybe a prank? Ah, there he is. It was him.”

The boy had just entered the dining hall in the company of an older Witcher, active medallion and all. He didn’t seem at all bothered being in the presence of someone that could and would send him flying with the flick of a finger.

Robin stared. She slowly turned to look at him. She had that look in her eyes that she always did whenever he brought up his chances of survival.

“Are you sure he wasn’t just being nice?”

“Yes. Why?” Julian stuffed the bread in his mouth, not lowering his raised brow.

“That’s Aiden. Everyone likes him, even Master Treyse, and Master Treyse doesn’t like _anyone_ ,” Robin explained, as the boy, Aiden, crossed the hall and fell into a seat at the opposite end of the kitten table, across the line that divided the two groups.

Julian groaned. “What is it with you darlings needing to befriend the weakling with a death sentence? Does it make you feel good or something?” Julian sniped.

He almost immediately regretted it, but he wasn’t about to take it back or apologise now. By the look on Robin’s face, she knew he did too.

“No, it’s because we’re not assholes,” Robin sighed. “If I tell you something, can you promise to listen?” She had lowered her voice now, and Julian had to bend closer to hear her.

“I won’t promise anything.”

“Julian-”

“Fine,” he said petulantly, shoving his plate out from between them. “I’ll save you the hassle because we both know you’ll win anyway. I promise.”

Robin didn’t speak at first. “It’s something that my parents told me as I left, and I never forgot it.” Julian was listening then. Robin almost never talked about where she had come from, her voice softer than Julian had ever heard it. “They told me to live without regrets. No matter how long I lived for, they didn’t want me to look back on my life and want to change it.”

“How does that link to being nice to me?”

“Because I do what I want to do, what makes me happy. And what _doesn’t_ make me happy is how those _assholes_ treat you!” She hissed out.

Julian listened with wide eyes. Robin almost never got worked up, and to hear her do so over him-- he blinked forcefully and averted his eyes to the ceiling.

“So you need to promise me, Julian, that whether you live for five more days or five hundred, that you do things for yourself. That you put your happiness above other people because this world is _mean_ and we know that better than anyone,” Robin grabbed his hand, gripping tightly. He chanced another look at her. Her eyes were shiny. Julian barely felt the tear that slipped out the corner of his own eye.

“I’m a mess today,” he grumbled wetly.

“Good,” Robin managed a wobbly smile. “You’re strong, you know?” He didn’t let her interrupt. “Not out here. In there,” she poked his chest. “Stronger than anyone I know. Because you don’t give up.”

“When did you get so wise?” Julian wiped his face. “You’re a regular Master Edwin.”

Robin smiled then, and Julian relaxed.

  
  


The Trial of the Grasses consisted of being injected first with a concoction to open the body up to change, then injected with the actual mutagens themselves. Julian couldn't say which was more painful. It could have lasted for all of eternity or less than a second, he didn’t know. He couldn’t remember it at all. Only pain. But he lived, he survived. As he lay on that table with his head still fuzzy, Julian thought that maybe he _did_ have something in him to become every bit as strong as he dreamed he could be.

“Julian,” a voice spoke to him. He flinched. It was loud. “Julian, you must drink.”

It was then that he noticed that his throat felt more like the hide of a wyvern than his own mouth. When he felt the tankard being pressed into his hands he tilted his head up as much as he could manage and poured the water down his throat. One tankard was replaced with another. He drained two more before he even opened his eyes. His stomach felt heavy, but at least his throat wasn’t dry.

He was surrounded by the stench of blood and death. Alchemical ingredients and vomit. It choked him, suffocated him. His throat burned as he coughed, tears stinging at the corner of his eyes.

“You’ll need time to get used to the enhanced senses,” the voice spoke again. Julian could place it now as Cedric the alchemist, the one to administer the Trial. “As you know, it’s just hearing and scent that have been modified.”

“I reme-” Julian’s voice broke before he could finish, throat burning.

“It is recommended that you avoid speaking until your throat is able to recover,” Cedric told him blandly. Julian’s body hurt too much to bother with nodding. “The pain, too, will recede over the following hours.”

Well, that was good. He wasn’t planning on living the rest of his life strapped to a table because he couldn’t move. Usually he would have picked something to think about to pass the time, like the latest lesson, however he couldn’t _concentrate_. 

He could hear Cedric’s heartbeat, and the way his clothes folded and the keys in his pocket rang against each other. He could smell the meal that Cedric must have eaten last, some kind of fish, and the herbs around him smothered his nose like being trapped under a blanket. He could get nothing from beyond the room. The thick dungeon walls muted any potential sound, which Julian supposed was the point.

He couldn’t hear if anyone in the surrounding rooms had lived or not. Going by the stench of death, he would assume that at least a few had died. But most must have lived, if he managed it. If nothing else, Robin must have survived.

He found out, two days later, that including him, four kittens made it out alive to become Cats. Robin was not among those gifted with a dormant Cat medallion, instructed to keep it on them at all times. Robin was in a mass grave with twenty four other bodies. Julian could see her red hair in the muck as they filled in the hole in the ground. He wondered about filling the hole in his heart.

After the funeral, Julian found himself frequently wandering the beaches below the castle. Their training as new witchers had yet to begin, as the Trial of Grasses required a week or two to settle, and no one was willing to rush experimental trainees.

The coast calmed him somewhere that he hadn’t been able to since before the Trial. The soothing rhythm of the waves gave his enhanced senses a well-needed break after hours inside the echoing halls of an inhabited castle. The air smelt of a natural salt above all else, which he much preferred over the potions and monster parts that filled Stygga Castle itself. Not to mention the quiet allowed him to meditate, which combined with his new witcher physiology, allowed his body to repair the damage wrought by the trials.

He had set out on one such walk when someone found him. Eyes closed with knees under him, Julian guessed he had been meditating for the better part of the day.

He hadn’t heard him at first, too focused on filtering out everything but the waves. The words had been another bird call as far as he was concerned, until whoever it was had come to a stop nearby.

“Julian?”

He jerked around, almost scraping his knees. He would have punched them had he not been familiar with who he saw.

He and Aiden hadn’t become friends since the Trials, but they had stuck together. As the two youngest of only four survivors, the two pairs had naturally formed. No words of substance had been spoken, only questions and answers and the memorable time Aiden dropped a cheese wheel.

“What is it? Do one of the Masters want us?” Julian asked.

“Kinda. Arenaria wants to get us four in one place or something. Not now,” he added hurriedly when Julian went to get to his feet, “tonight, after the meal.”

“Couldn’t you have told me then?” Julian closed his eyes again.

“Well… not really. I wanted to ask you something.” Whatever it was, Julian couldn’t think of anything off the top of his head that Aiden might be hesitant to ask about. He supposed he didn’t have to answer the question if he didn’t want to.

“Ask away.”

“How did you settle so quickly? The rest of us can’t handle the senses, but you got it in a few days,” Aiden lamented, sitting on a larger rock nearby. “Does it have to do whatever you’re doing out here?”

“Yes. I didn’t know what I was doing at first, but I’ve been filtering out the background noise somehow when I focus on the sea,” Julian said, moving his legs out from under him to stretch. “Once I stopped getting distracted I could meditate, which made it even easier, but-” he gestured helplessly. “I’m not really sure. I suppose it’s different for everyone.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll all get it eventually,” Aiden shrugged. “Now, I don’t know about you, but it’s mighty boring. How about we break into the kitchens and throw something else down the stairs? More dairy?”

“If you want to eat cheese that’s been rolled in dirt for the next month, sure, but keep me out of it. If you have an idea that _won’t_ end up with us both suffering for twice as long with some creative punishment,” Julian dismissed.

A grin slowly spread across Aiden’s face. A chill shot down Julian’s spine.

“Whatever you want, it’s a no,” Julian said cautiously, climbing to his feet.

“What I want,” Aiden rubbed his hands together, looking too self-satisfied for Julian to be comfortable in any way, “is a partner is crime. And would you look at that! I’ve found one!”

Julian swallowed, and thought of Robin. _No regrets ._

“I have the right to back out at any moment,” is what he settled on, and tried not to feel too happy when Aiden let out a whoop.

The evening found four Cats inside Arenaria’s room, lounging over the furniture like their namesakes. Aiden and Arenaria herself claimed the bed, while Andras took the desk and Julian the pile of winter blankets and pillows on the floor.

“So what’s this about?” Andras demanded. Julian couldn’t help but notice how he spoke more quietly than he had ever heard Andras before, so they were likely still having problems with their hearing. He would never admit to the surge of satisfaction that came with that realisation.

Arenaria shifted a little, sitting up so that she could see all three of them at once. “I thought it would be helpful if we were all on the same page for the next few years,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Aiden voiced what they were thinking.

“We should help each other. Not like the competitiveness the Masters tried to push us into before the Trials,” she told them quietly. “It split us apart and did more harm than good. The best of the best in that competition are dead. What matters now is that we get stronger, and we can help each other do that.”

Andras scoffed. “There’ll be an unfair split. You and I won’t get the same back, will we? Especially with Julian-”

“Leave Julian alone,” Aiden scowled.

“Maybe when he tells me that himself-”

“Shut up, both of you,” Arenaria growled. “This is exactly what I meant. No fighting. We’ll have enough to deal with and I’m not spending time I could be spending training stopping you from killing each other!”

No one spoke up for a while after that. The sun sank into the sea, casting the room in a golden glow that vanished just as quickly as it came. A bit like all good things, Julian thought. They vanish in time. Not the stars, though. The stars stayed. He just needed to wait a while for them to appear.

“We’re Cats now,” Julian said quietly. “We shouldn’t fight amongst ourselves unless forced, like the older ones. We need to get stronger, survive. I don’t want to smell more of the death of our own.”

“I don’t want to just be alive,” Aiden declared. “I want to enjoy myself and make the best of it, for the rest of our litter.”

Julian didn’t know about the rest of the litter, but what Aiden said got him thinking. He would live for Robin, and make sure that he honoured the promise he made to her. Whether that be for five more days, or five hundred years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how to write children, but they contemplate death on the daily so i'm going to use the excuse of the trauma and the adults around them, then curse myself for writing it.
> 
> the end is abrupt or something and i'm not happy with any of this but if i have to stare at the document longer i might cease existing. we'll be back to jaskier the bard next chap, and (if things go as planned) the next time we see young julian he'll have at least acknowledged his inner shit-stirrer which is just good all round.
> 
> i shall now retreat back to my safe lurking existence.


End file.
